


feet don't fail me now, take me to the finish line

by bellamees



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band), 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Jaejoong isn't, Jessica POV, Jessica is famous, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamees/pseuds/bellamees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3a.m. The next train should be here in fifteen minutes. I take a few deep breaths, reassuring myself that I won’t feel any pain. It’ll be quick. It might even make it to the morning news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feet don't fail me now, take me to the finish line

**Author's Note:**

> previously posted on livejournal.

3a.m. The next train should be here in fifteen minutes.  
  
I take a few deep breaths, reassuring myself that I won’t feel any pain. It’ll be quick. It might even make it to the morning news.  
  
It’s cold in Los Angeles, for some unearthly reason. Mid-April, it should be warming up already.  
_I should’ve brought another jacket_.  
Nevermind, now.  
  
There’s a stale smell underground, and it’s dirtier than I’d remembered. Last time I’ve been in the subway was for a photoshoot, roughly ten years ago. I drive a Range Rover, I don’t need the trains. I just — I just need them now, to be sure. Everybody’s dying of overdose these days, I need to be certain I’ll make the headlines. I hope pictures are taken, ugly ones. Like the ones they took of _them_.  
  
I light a cigarette. I didn’t brush my teeth earlier. I haven’t eaten for a whole day.  
Little rebel acts, little rebel acts. I could devour an entire cake right now, with my shaking hands.  
I don’t know why they’re shaking so much.  
  
I sit down, legs hovering the deadly rails.  
I’m tired.  
  
“ _On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitas—_ ” the singing tune dies out as the voice probably sees me sitting there. _Fucker, fucker, fucker_ , I curse between my teeth. I should be alone for this. I can’t wait another thirty minutes for another train. I need to go. “You know it’s not safe to sit there, right?”  
  
“It’s none of your business,” I look over my shoulder, but I don’t see the hobo I’m expecting. I see a young man, sure, he could be better dressed perhaps, and his guitar case looks like it’s falling apart already, and he’s got eerie eyes, he’s odd. I throw a hundred dollar bill at him from where I’m standing. It sits idly between us. He doesn’t move. “Leave.”  
  
He walks lazily towards the bill, analyzing my face. I don’t like the way he stares, so I just turn my eyes back to the rails. To the grave. I hear his footsteps all behind me until it’s silent again — but then he’s right there, sitting next to me. He offers me the money back, I don’t take it. He leaves it on the ground. “So — I’m Jaejoong.”  
  
“I really don’t care,” I reply. Jaejoong scoffs, shaking his head. His hair is all shades of gold, except for his roots — those are black, just like his eyes. He lights a cigarette himself, an unknown brand, probably the cheapest one he could find.  
  
I blow smoke through my nose, pretending for a moment to be a dragon, burning his presence away.  
My fantasy lasts a second, maybe less. He breathes, it’s a reminder he’s there.  
  
“They’ll frame you if you stay,” I say casually, voice starting to get hoarse from smoking and the ghostly chill that has fallen over the city. “They’ll say you pushed me.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were going to jump, that’s new information for me,” he smiles and it’s not the sarcastic smile I expected, but a rather softhearted, nice smile. Ridiculous. “But by all means, I can just leave when you’re ready.”  
  
3:07a.m. We sit there in silence. Jaejoong breathes, and his breathing annoys me. He’ll breathe and breathe and breathe and I’ll be put together by funeral artists and they’ll make my face look pretty enough for one last photograph and Jaejoong will be somewhere breathing. He’ll see my face on the news and he’ll see me then, _fuck_ , why doesn’t he recognizes me now?  
  
I’m still here.  
I’m still A-listed, aren’t I? No?  
I’m still—  
  
“I’m Jessica,” I say then, my own name bursting out of my throat, starving for that glimpse of spotlight. It’s a disease, really. It’s filthy. “Jessica.”  
  
“Ah—,” he looks at me for some time, with such intensity it’s like he’s trying to remember every inch of my face for a future drawing. He’s not, though. That’s just sheer recognition. It’s beautiful, really, to me. “Ah. You’re _that_ Jessica.”  
  
Soft wave of relief. I’m still it.  
  
“Car accident Jessica,” he continues, shattering the glistening relief zone I had been in a second ago.  
  
Yes. That’s right. I killed people. I killed my friends.  
I wasn’t drunk like they say. I was just — just too tired.  
Maybe tired of life, I don’t know.  
I fell asleep.  
  
I don’t say any of those things.  
That’s weakness.  
  
“It wasn’t my fault,” I throw my cigarette butt on the rails I’ll meet soon and watch them sparkle away, wishing the train would take me right then. Be tough. Look up. Don’t let the haters grind you down. Those were my manager’s words after the accident, shallow, empty, desperate. I broke three ribs and injured my face so badly I couldn’t go out for months. And then the guilt came, and the paparazzi and the _she had a fight with her friends not even a week before the accident, she knew they didn’t have their seatbelts on, Jessica should just kill herself, it’s the end of her career anyway_.  
  
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaejoong nods, and I’m surprised to realize I believe him. His voice comes out bearing raw honesty and it scares me. I’m mostly surrounded by liars, by secrets — honesty, that’s so weird. It makes me want to cry. “You shouldn’t blame it on yourself.”  
  
I stare at him, in bewilderment.  
It’s 3:11a.m when I start to cry.  
Jaejoong smiles and awkwardly pats my shoulder, careful for his touch not to linger, and he has dirty nails.  
I’m still staring at him, staring and crying.  
_It wasn’t my fault_.  
_It wasn't._  
It wasn't.  
It wasn't-  
  
“Thank you,” I try my best to smile, it comes out ugly. He doesn’t seem to mind.  
  
Jaejoong stands up, then, stretching his arms.  
  
“Good luck,” he says, and I look up at him. Suddenly I’m so scared I can’t breathe. He's leaving.  
  
The air shifts around us and I hear him shuffle around. The train is coming.  
  
A loud thump takes my breath away for a moment, I even shut my eyes, but it’s only Jaejoong behind me.  
His guitar bag - that absolutely wretched thing - had actually decided to collapse. I can say I saw it coming from the moment he walked in the subway station. He looks at me with apologetic eyes.  
  
I get up to help him, stepping further away from the rails.  
The train comes, its deafening metallic sounds hurting my ears.  
I blink, amazed.  
_I’m still here_.  
  
It’s not until the train is gone that I find myself breathing again.  
Jaejoong tugs on my jacket’s sleeve.  
  
“Say, let’s get you a coffee,” he gives me a nice smile, nicer than the ones I can ever deliver.  
  
“That—” I’m at loss of words. “The train.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ve missed it. There’s another one at a quarter to four, if you want to catch it,” he carries his guitar on his back now, while the lopside case is under his arm. They keep clashing as he keeps talking. “I can wait with you again.”  
  
“3:45,” I nod, breathing. I’m breathing, just like him. “Sure.”  
  
“Sure,” Jaejoong smiles again, all teeth and goodness.  
  
“Sure.”


End file.
